


When the wolf bites

by TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, College Student Stiles, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapped Scott, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Sterek Glompfest, Werewolf Derek, bitten Scott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14086845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving/pseuds/TheyDraggedMeInNowIAintLeaving
Summary: Prompt: Mafia au sterek, stiles is magic and can talk to animals, he’s called red riding hood , he fights and terrorizes the hale mafia because they took scott from his family. Derek is the alpha of the hale mafia who secretly are all werewolves and keeps scott cuz peter bit him recently and the secret should be kept. Derek and stiles meet accidentally in a bar.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [make-pasta-not-h8](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=make-pasta-not-h8).



> Written for Sterek Glompfest on tumblr as a gift for Make-pasta-not-h8 
> 
> This is made with love and even if I may have failed to deliever on some points I hope you'll enjoy this anyway.
> 
> Beta'd by the poor gremlin sleeping in my bed, any and all remaining mistakes are belong to me...
> 
> Comments, kudos and constructive critisim welcome. Did I forget some tags? Let me know, I'll add them

They celebrate surviving high school - to some also known as graduation - at the diner serving the best curly fries in town but they take desert at the place selling Italian ice cream because that’s Scott’s favorite. When they’re done eating the four of them (the Stilinskis and the McCalls) spends the rest of the evening at the Stilinski residence playing board games and talking; the night ending some time past midnight with the two adults presenting their children with a joint gift: A week at the beach with no parental supervision.

They’re having the time of their lives, just two best friends in a tiny cottage spending the days swimming and playing and Scott getting a tan and Stiles suffering the after effects of a vicious sunburn; there are others at the beach, former high school students like them getting in a last summer of leisure before adulthood and responsibilities and sometimes they join in on a game of beach volley though never for long due to Scott’s asthma and Stiles’ general uncoordinatedness.

There are bonfires in the evenings, plenty of beer and people forgetting the meaning of personal space as the sky darkens and the world gets a few hours of sleep before dawn replaces the night. They wake up with sand in places sand should never be and before they know it the week’s gone by and the jeep’s turned towards Beacon Hills and the last remnants of summer once again.

July passes by in a blur and if asked Stiles couldn’t tell what he did for the entirety of that month. He assumes he played video games with Scott, made his dad eat healthy while trying to get his hands of some of the case files he was working on.   
But soon the days bleed into August and Stiles no longer have the time for doing nothing. There’s packing to be done, paperwork to be filled and making a schedule for calling both his dad and Scott taking the different time zones into account, because while Scott stays in California for college Stiles has to travel half a world away for his.

~x~

“Focus, Mieczyslaw.” It still surprises him how easily his name rolls off her tongue, the only word she can say without a trace of accent - she doesn’t otherwise speak a lick of Polish though he’s yet to gather the courage to ask her where she’s from - even as he dodges the bony finger coming for his ribs. Once he’s sure he’s off the hook - for now at least - he settles, closes his eyes and tries to focus.

There’s wind howling outside, the tree branches white and heavy with snow but here - inside a small wooden house with two rooms, a fire burning merrily in the fireplace and the iron stove in the kitchen - it’s almost as warm as a summer day back home.

There’s not much to be heard beside the crackling fire and the creaking snow, as he with a deep breath sinks deeper into his own mind, letting his consciousness expand, searching for something other than fire and the onset of yet another blizzard.

Just as he’s about to give up he hears it: a heartbeat, slow but strong; something huge inside a tiny cave breathing, sleeping. His body remains still, safe behind fortified wood, as his mind moves closer, tentatively though there’s nothing in that cave capable of hurting him. He’s never seen a bear before so he takes his time admiring the animal before entering its head. The first thing he notices is how the bear, despite being in hibernation, is somewhat aware of its surroundings, and though the cave is well protected from the elements he notices how the bear shuffles in its sleep, curls a little around itself as a human would do if it was freezing.

That’s when he hears it: two more heartbeats, a little faster than the adult bear’s but not as loud; the sound breaking the connection and he can see the two tiny cubs nestled against the bear, its fur protecting them from the cold where they’re suckling. When he’s seen enough he retreats back into his own body, thankful for the mug of warm tea waiting for him.

As the days grow shorter he slowly learns to _listen_ , to identify them by the sound of their hearts or the thoughts in their minds. When the sun’s gaining strength once more he’s learnt to enter their minds, to use their senses as his own while remaining miles away; he runs with the deer and the hares, flies with the birds of prey; he’s tasted the sweetness of fresh grass and felt his stomach contract with the force of regurgitation. He’s hunted and been hunted, has felt the adrenaline course through him lending him speed in a fear fueled sprint away from a pack of wolves; has joined in the community of the flock when the hunt was over.

When he gets bored Gideon teaches him anatomy and healing, hours upon hours of reading dusty tomes and trawling through the snow for potential patients; they don’t save them all, no matter how powerful he is there’s only so much he can do, but he keeps trying and the longer he stays the better his success rate.

By the time the snow’s completely gone it’s closer to summer than spring and when Camille hands him a rucksack one sunny morning he’s out the door before she can tell him where they’re going.   
They spend the next few months walking, down the valleys and up the mountains with her teaching him to survive, to recognize the signs of water and food, how to identify edible plants and berries. When he argues that he doesn’t need to know these things as he can always ask the animals she smiles at him, points to a vine like plant with green pods.

“They’ll tell you this is good food,” she picks one of the pods, carefully opening it to reveal its contents, “so you eat it and in a few hours you’ll feel as if your insides are on fire.” He takes the lessons more seriously then.

Once spring comes around again he’s back in his dad’s house, taking a break while making sure he has the credit needed to begin his last year of college and trying to sneak a peak on the case files the man sometimes brings home. He leaves just before summer gives way for fall with a promise of coming back for Christmas and long hugs for both his dad and Scott whom he’s spent most of the summer break with just like they used to back in high school.


	2. Chapter 1

The stench permeating the air had almost everyone in the room wrinkling their noses in disgust, a few of them gagging as discreetly as possible into sleeves or handkerchiefs. Only the man at the end of the table seemed to not care that the smell of sewers on a sweltering summer day combined with rotting _things_ was getting closer; his arms resting on the table, left hand gently rolling a snifter of scotch and not a single muscle moving to shield his nose from the assault of the approaching odor.

After an eternity the door slams open and a young man drenched head to toe in an unappetizing brownish sludge - the apparent source of the vile stench – enters the room though he’s barely through the door before two people are running out the room, leaving behind nothing but the sound of retching.   
He’s clearly nervous, possibly terrified even - the men and women around this table have _reputations_ and he’s nothing but a grunt, not meant to stand in front of them for something as simple as a bank robbery - when he steps a little closer to them in reaction to the wordless order of a quick gesture.

“Boss,” a blonde woman - who looks like silk wrapped steel that could probably snap him in half with both hands tied behind her back - says, making the man at the end of the table finally lift his gaze from the snifter in his hand.

“It seems our friend…” all it takes to silence the woman is a look and he almost pisses himself in fear – the woman’s terrifying enough as it is and for the man (and if he’d known that tonight was going to end with him in front of the boss he’d have stayed in bed the whole day) to silence her that easily he must be even more so - but he manages not to humiliate himself even as red (no, that can’t be right, is probably some sort of trick played on him by the light and his frightened mind) eyes lock onto his.

“Speak,” despite the voice being surprisingly softer and higher pitched than he would have thought looking at the man there’s no mistaking it for anything but the order it is, and so the words spill from him: how everything had gone according to plan, the vault opened by a few strategically placed sticks of dynamite, anything of value stuffed into the burlap sacks they’d brought with them and the run for the van with the alarms blaring, Silvio flooring it to get out of there before the police showing up and then the vehicle suddenly just stopping without any warning or apparent reason.

The sound of glass shattering brings him to a stuttering halt and he finally loses the tenuous control he has on his bladder (he spares a quick thought being grateful he’s already soaked through and smell bad enough that it’ll most likely go unnoticed) when he’s no longer looking at the face of a man but rather that of a monster; there’s a voice in his head screaming at him to _run, run, **RUN**_ but his feet are nailed to the floor as he closes his eyes waiting for the inevitable.

He’s distantly aware of hushed voices speaking in calming tones and what sounds like splintering wood soon replaced by eerie silence and then a hand on his arm making him flinch and involuntarily opening his eyes. The room’s empty except for himself and a dark-skinned man who’s watching him carefully as if looking for something specific. He must find what he’s searching for as he squeezes his arm reassuringly before letting go.

“Go get washed up and go home.”

However gentle the voice is the words still fill him with dread; there’s no doubt in his mind that he’s nothing more than a walking corpse, after all he’s the bearer of bad news and everybody knows failure isn’t an option in an organization such as this. He spares a brief thought for his mother (god rest her soul) with her hands on her hips and the old refrain of ‘I told you so’ that had met every failed plan from his earliest childhood to the last time he’d been brought home by the cops; he’s not sure what his face does but it must be amusing judged from the chuckle coming from the man besides him. Though, as nothing more is said he slowly makes his way towards the locker rooms (yeah, he doesn’t know why they’re there either, but they are and he’s not going to complain right now) resigned to the fact that if he’s going to die at least he’ll be clean and not smell like something that’s been dead for weeks.

As soon as the man’s out of ear shot Boyd presses the speed dial on his phone giving a short instruction to the man answering and by the time he’s hung up the grunt is already out of his mind, far too preoccupied with tonight’s incident to spare him any more thoughts. This is the third time in as many months an unknown person has foiled a perfectly laid plan; a plan nobody outside of this room should’ve known in its entirety just like the other two jobs and yet somebody hadn’t just known but had known well enough to stop the crew getting away with the loot. So far all of their men had been able to get away before the cops showed up but Boyd can’t help but worry that at some point this Little Red character – Erica had been the first to use the moniker, as all they knew about this person was that they always wore a red hoodie - is going to leave a crew incapacitated for too long, leading to them being caught. Deep in thought he punches in the code and lets the hidden elevator bring him to the basement.


	3. Chapter 2

It’s the last spring break of Stiles’ college career, and taking advantage of sitting on the front row he’s the first out the class room door that particular Friday. The Jeep’s packed to the breaking point with things he doesn’t think he’ll need for the few months he has left therefore figuring he’d might as well take them back to Beacon Hills.

Stiles spends the trip across the parking lot sending a message to both his dad and Scott telling them he’s on his way and that he’ll hopefully be home in no more than five hours. He doesn’t expect to hear from either of them - his dad’s on a double shift to have the weekend off and Scott’s in class and won’t make the trip back before some point Sunday.

Having somehow managed to bypass the horde of his fellow students, Stiles opens the driver’s side door, sliding in behind the wheel. Surprisingly the Jeep starts at the first try so in less than two minutes Stiles has left the campus behind and is on his way home.

When he passes the lopsided sign proclaiming “Welcome to Beacon Hills” it’s as if his breathing comes easier and an invisible weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He lets his mind sweep the familiar streets as he steers the Jeep in the direction of his dad’s house.   
When he finally pulls into the driveway the week he’s just had finally catches up with him so he skips unpacking just exits the car, fumbles a bit with the key in the front door and as soon as he’s inside he staggers upstairs into his room.

As he faceplants into the pillow all he has time for is a grateful thought his dad changed the bedding and then he’s out like a light.

~x~

Stiles wakes after a little refreshing nap of (he looks at the clock, counts on his fingers) nearly twenty hours. Smiling to himself and feeling pretty proud of his accomplishment - being almost done with college and having his magic under as much control as is possible it’s not often he gets to sleep long enough to wake by himself - he stumbles out the bed, trying to gather a fresh change of clothes as silently as possible, assuming his dad’s gotten home and is currently sleeping.

He showers for a short eternity, taking full advantage of the privacy - though mindful that he’s not the only one in the house - and the wonderful water pressure; after years of the wilderness where he’s often relegated to chill streams or a few buckets of lukewarm water and the last year’s shared bathrooms in his college dormitory this feels like heaven, making him a little sad he’s going back to college in a week.

Once he’s washed off the grime and travel dust - and everything else that needs washing off - he dries off and gets dressed. His stomach growls reminding him that it has skipped more meals than it likes so rather than going to unpack the jeep or put on a movie Stiles goes to raid the kitchen.   
It’s a sad sight meeting him. There’s nothing in the cupboards he can be bothered to deal with and the fridge is practically empty. He manages to find a nearly empty box of Cheerios in the back of the corner cupboard, wondering how long it’s been there, and a drop of milk that probably won’t make him sick. When he’s eaten he makes a shopping list, leaves a note explaining he’s gone to the store before grabbing his dad’s wallet and leaving the house.

~x~

Before getting his shopping on, Stiles swings by the preserve. He hasn’t been here for years, a faint memory of his mother holding his hand, the overwhelming feeling of a sea of voices turning into a cacophony of noise making his head feel as if it was splintering into a million tiny pieces. He thinks there were people there that day but he can’t be sure, all of it faded on the background of his own pained screams and his mother scooping him into her arms and depositing him in the jeep before driving out of there at a breakneck speed. He’d slept for two days straight and when he’d finally woken he’d felt hollow, as if something was missing. It had been around that time Scott and his parents had moved in next door and soon the feeling had been pushed aside - now long forgotten - in the excitement of getting a friend.

Stiles isn’t really sure why he’s here, but thanks to the last few years studying with Gideon, Camille and a few acquaintances of theirs, the only thing meeting him is silence and the wind blowing through the trees. Slowly, as he steps away from the jeep (not the same one his mother drove all those years ago but one identical to it), he lowers the barriers, letting their voices fill his consciousness, a smile tugging at his lips when it’s just as easy as it had been in the frozen forests half a world away.   
A few hours passes, he’s almost half asleep where he’s sitting on a patch of grass beneath a tree large and gnarled with age, the animals around him having long since lost their interest in him, though some of them had regaled him with tales of their lives. The quiet ‘ding’ of an incoming text has him opening his eyes, shaking his head before getting to his feet, skimming his father’s words on the way back to his jeep.

He’s in and out of the store in half an hour and then he’s driving back home, eager to see his dad for the first time in far too long.   
Shutting off the engine he doesn’t bother with the bags just hurries towards the door opening, his dad standing there with his arms open. The hug lasts for several minutes, both men reluctant to let the other go though at some point they have to and together they get everything out of the jeep, Stiles bringing his bags to his room while his dad puts the groceries away.   
Once that’s done they begin making dinner while talking about everything that has happened since last they saw each other. It’s not until Stiles looks at the pile of vegetables his dad’s preparing - voluntarily he might add - that he pauses in the tale of the prank he and his roommates had played on the rest of the dormitory.

”What’s her name,” he teases, grinning when he notices a faint blush coloring his dad’s cheeks.

”You’ll see at dinner,” is his dad’s reply, his smile just as teasing knowing full well his son hates not knowing everything.

It’s not for lack of trying but by the time the lasagna is in the oven Stiles isn’t closer to an answer than he was before he even knew there was somebody other than him that could get his dad to eat a little healthier than what he’d be doing if left to his own devices.   
It’s not _really_ a surprise when Melissa McCall - Scott’s mom - walks through the doorway though Stiles definitely didn’t expect her shocked expression upon seeing him.


	4. Chapter 3

A roar pierces the quiet followed by the sound of something heavy hitting concrete; Boyd heaves a sigh as he hurries from his room down the stairs into the basement.

”What did you do?” he asks, keeping his eyes on the pacing figure behind the bars dividing the room in two. With an annoyed scoff Erica turns towards him, a snarl on her half shifted face. When she notices the glint in his eyes she lets the transformation bleed away.

”I told him Red,” she’s interrupted by yet another roar, her only reaction being flipping the enraged alpha off before she continues, “had gotten the formula before our boys got there.”

Seeing as their alpha is currently out of reach Boyd does like her and ignores him, shifting his gaze to the blonde.   
”How do you know Sun didn’t just put it somewhere else?” he asks.

”Because he left a note,” Erica says, handing him a scrap of paper.

_GIVE SCOTT BACK_ it says in a scrawl Boyd thinks look vaguely familiar but he can’t put his finger on it so he just hands the note back getting his phone pressing ‘9’ with a resigned look on his face.

~x~

Nobody knew how Peter had managed to gain alpha powers, go feral and bite a poor, random passerby. It had been sheer luck that Isaac had crossed the young man’s path, realized that he had no idea that he’d been turned and had then proceeded to call Jackson while following the young man. It hadn’t taken long to figure out his name and that he was living with his mother - apparently saving money by commuting to college - and excited for spring break and his best friend coming back home. It had taken even shorter to devise a plan, especially as it was a simple “catch and detain”.

They’d struck by midnight, a drop of venom from Jackson’s fangs incapacitating the man, a note left on the kitchen table to give them a few days head start and then they’d driven towards the preserve and the pack house.   
Understandably their new pack mate was less than impressed with them, had told them repeatedly how he’d make sure they’d all be thrown in jail where they could spend the rest of their lives thinking about the things they’d done wrong. Erica had laughed at him making him pout and Isaac had had to leave the room, overwhelmed by a sudden need to free him.

It had taken surprisingly long to convince Scott that yes, werewolves are real and yes, you are one, welcome to the rest of your life. Sometimes Isaac wondered if maybe Derek was a little to blame for Scott’s reluctance to accept the facts presented to him but there was no way he was ever going to say that out loud.   
One thing was getting him to accept that he was now a werewolf, getting him to practice control was an entirely different story. As in didn’t really happen!   
Which is why even now, six months later, Scott is still locked in the basement of the Hale house where he can’t break anything or hurt anybody, where he won’t expose them to the humans or, even worse, attract hunters and where he can be close to the pack, even if he keeps insisting he doesn’t need to.

They’re not sure what happened to Peter though there’s no doubt he’s either dead or no longer an alpha, as they’d all felt the pack bonds snap into place the day before Scott’s first full moon. That had been Isaac’s worst in the ten years since he’d learnt to control the shift. Scott had been human one second only to snap into his beta shift the next, the sound of bones shifting loud and not drowned out before he began screaming and howling, an eerie mix of human and wolf.

That’s not to say it hadn’t gotten better; Scott’s control was tenous but at least he was no longer subject to the moon’s pull like he had been at the beginning, making the full moons easier on both him and the rest of the pack who no longer had to feel his pain through the bond. Which was also why Jackson’s suggestion of talking to him trying to find out who this Red was who kept foiling their plans, now that they finally had a motive.

Unsurprisingly Scott refused to tell them anything. He’d cast a glance at the note and the wolves had immediately known he’d recognized the hand writing but he’d refused to tell them, even Derek flashing his red eyes and growling hadn’t changed Scott’s mind and in the end they’d gone back upstairs, trying to come up with a way to find out the identity of Red when he seemed to know their every move.


	5. Chapter 4

Stiles is livid. It’s been months and still there’s no sign of his best friend, his brother. By now the sheriff’s department has stopped looking, all of them expecting Scott’s dead body to show up at some point and none of them believing he’s still alive. Stiles hasn’t given up hope, knows he’d _know_ if Scott was not out there somewhere; but no matter where he looks there’s no sign of him.

Stiles had searched everywhere, had spoken with every animal he could find and had even tried scrying - something he was horribly bad at and the result had been as expected. He’d gotten a break when finally talking to an owl; the bird having seen someone entering Scott’s house in the middle of the night. Sadly it had been hunting and had only spared them a glance from the corner of its eye not giving him much to go on, and it had been another week before he finally had a name: Hale.

He remembers the fire that killed most of them years back but no matter what he does it’s impossible to find any information just a bit more recent. That is until he uses his dad’s passwords, and is presented with rap sheets longer than his arm, even if anything has yet to be proven.

There are a few pictures, grainy and poorly lit, with names attached that he thinks he’s seen somewhere else but they’re soon forgotten in favor of reading the files. Derek Hale seems to be the leader of a mafia-like organisation - something Stiles would’ve thought would need far more space to thrive than Beacon Hills has - the inner circle consisting of him and six other people. They’re suspected of anything from simple theft to industrial espionage though never before for something as common as a kidnapping.

Finding the Hales is simple enough, listening in on their plans a little trickier but getting visuals on them is near impossible. Once he finds out that they mostly make use of other people for the actual execution of their plans Stiles makes plans of his own.   
The first thing he does is driving back to college to get the rest of his things before requesting a leave of absence which he’s granted - he may be bad at scrying but he’s always been good at manipulating computers - and then going back to Beacon Hills.

He starts small. A flat tyre here, an empty gun there but soon he escalates, making sure to stop every single plan he hears. He has cats, birds even rats following every person he thinks have a connection to the Hales and still he has no idea what they look like, nothing but an old picture of Derek as a teenager but it’s more than a decade old and essentially useless. 

~x~

Stiles is probably going a little crazy so when Lydia shows up out of the blue - she knows Scott’s missing but Stiles had insisted her assistance wasn’t needed - and throws clothes at him it takes him embarrassingly long to realize her plan. In fact he doesn’t clue in until she’s pushing him through a door into a room filled with smoke, the hushed tones of talking and somebody singing accompanied by a guitar. Knowing better than to anger her he obediently follows her to the bar where she orders two beers.

It’s not long before he’s left alone, his back to the bar as he lets his eyes sweep the place, remembering Lydia’s tirade ending in him needing to get laid to “relieve some of the pressure before you blow up, Stilinski”, his eyes stopping when they land on an exquisite specimen; a man who’s the living embodiment of Tall, Dark and Dangerous if Stiles has ever seen one, a shiver running down his spine when the man lifts his head and his eyes lock on Stiles’.

Stunned Stiles watches as TDD extricates himself from his companions who just nonchalantly waves at him before making his ways towards Stiles. Up close TDD is even hotter than he’d been at the relatively short distance between the stool and the both and Stiles can feel himself salivating over the guy. The man’s barely made it into Stiles’ space before the bartender’s in front of them, a few buttons missing from his shirt as he leans closer asking if he can take TDD’s order. The man doesn’t even spare him a glance as he looks Stiles up and down clearly undressing him with his eyes. 

”I’ll take this one to go,” TDD’s voice is soft and sends blood straight past Stiles’ belt and without making a conscious decision he gets to his feet, letting the man lead him through the crowd out the bar without as much as a look backwards.

They don’t make it further than the dark alley behind the building before TDD is pushing Stiles against a wall his mouth hot against Stiles’, blood pumping fire through his veins as he whimpers into the strangers’ mouth, ruts desperately against the thigh wedged between his legs a distant part of him aware TDD’s doing the same, a sinuous roll of his hips designed to tease and torment. Or maybe that’s just Stiles’ lust addled brain talking.   
The walk towards TDD’s car - and dear god have mercy, the guy drives a Camaro - is thankfully short though the drive through town takes longer than strictly necessary as they can’t seem to keep their hands of each other, Stiles far more preoccupied trying to get his hands inside the man’s pants than figuring out where they’re going.

Stumbling through a parking garage into an elevator in come soiled pants isn’t the most pleasant experience in Stiles’ opinion, thankfully TDD does his best to distract him from the discomfort and when they’re finally somewhere more private and the door’s locked behind they’re both soon devoid their clothes anyway.   
Stiles doesn’t recall sex ever being this intense, doesn’t think he’s ever been this in tune with another person that they move without words, taking their cues from the breathless noises they pull from the other. The fuzzy light of predawn leaves bright patches on the carpet when TDD’s breathing evens out, his arm slung across Stiles’ waist pulling him closer. Yawning Stiles willingly moves closer his eyes heavy with fatigue when he sees it.

There’s a picture hanging on the wall, a group of people he doesn’t know but has seen on several occasions through the eyes of Bluefur, the cat who’s helped him listen to every plan the Hales have made for the past few months. Slowly he turns his head, taking a closer look at the man spooning him and the longer he looks the more he sees the similarities with the picture of teenage Derek Hale.   
His heart’s racing and stomach churning only one panicked thought going through his mind ( _that’sDerekHaleohmygodohmygodohmygod_ ) as he tries to escaped the hold he’s in, no longer tired but awake enough that he can begin to see the possibilities.

Eventually Derek rolls over letting Stiles get out of the bed, slipping on his pants and shirt and sneaking out of the room. He’s going through the drawers of the desk he practically tripped over when the light suddenly comes on, startling him.

”Who are you?” Derek drawls, Stiles’ dick making a valiant effort of twitching in interest at the naked man casually leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest and a murderous scowl on his face. Apparently not enough to stop Stiles from wanting to climb him like a tree if it hadn’t been for Scott, of course.

”Where’s Scott?” is what he asks, smirking when he sees the way blood drains from Derek’s face though his triumph is short lived when he throws back his head and… howls!?   
Before he can process and recover from the surprise there’s the sound of running feet and somebody behind him; he never makes the full turn before he falls gracelessly to the floor, unable to move as much as an eyebrow.

”Take him to the house,” he hears Derek ordering somebody he can’t see and then there’s a face in his line of sight he hasn’t seen since his mother died, disbelief coloring his voice as he whispers a single word.

“Jackson!”

It doesn’t give him any reaction other than getting thrown over a shoulder in a fireman’s carry and then bumping up and down unpleasantly as his carried out the room, down the stairs and finally thrown into the trunk of a car.

~x~

He’s a little groggy but he’s barely out the trunk before realizing he’s back at the preserve and if he’d been able to move he’d slap himself for his stupidity. The animals had told him there was a house out here but they stayed away from it and just because they wouldn’t tell him why he still should’ve gone to investigate.

Though worried about what’s going to happen he still can’t hide the joy at seeing Scott, even if his friend is currently behind bars. Jackson, or somebody who looks like him, places him on a chair before wrapping rope around him; wither to restrain him or keep him upright, maybe both.

”Scotty,” he says, a slight slur to his words thanks to paralytic still in his system. He doesn’t like the way Scott looks all scowly and hairy and not like the happy go lucky guy he’d been last they’d face timed.

”Stiles.” Scott growls, and what the hell is going on he wonders. “You shouldn’t have come.”

And now that’s just bull shit - which Stiles kindly informs him of - and a little hurtful because Scott’s been gone for half a _year_ , worrying his mother grey, Stiles doesn’t notice the pointed looks Scott’s sending in his direction at that, and sending Stiles towards an early grave. So if he could just be a teeny tiny bit appreciative of the fact that Stiles has come to save him that would be much appreciated.

He doesn’t expect the laugh coming behind him but he recognizes the blonde woman from earlier in the bar, her blood red lips stretched wide on a smile and her teeth suspiciously sharp; she’s soon forgotten when Derek steps into his field of vision still hot like burning even in sweats and a well worn t-shirt his eyes the same color as the woman’s lips, the final piece of the puzzle slotting into place and Stiles groans, just what he needed.

”How did you find us?” Derek growls in a way he probably thinks is intimidating but Stiles has just spent hours getting intimately acquainted with that growl, has felt it against his throat accompanied by the scrape of teeth and he can’t help the grin as he answers.

”A little bird told me.”

Which wasn’t the answer he was looking for if the way his face twists in anger and something else is anything to go by. Once it stops Derek’s looking very different than before, his eyebrows gone but sideburns growing wildly his mouth lined with pointy fangs and even with his magic Stiles is still just 148 pounds of skin and fragile bones whose best defence is sarcasm so it’s hardly surprising when he starts singing “who’s afraid of the big bad wolf” glee evident in his voice.

Then he has one angry ‘wolf in his face, voice menacing as he hisses;   
”Who did you tell?” a hand against Stiles’ throat, “tell me or else,” the threat hanging heavy in the air.

Stiles cocks his head, eyes flickering to Scott for a second before he’s staring straight into Derek’s, a cheeky grin on his face;   
”You’ll huff and you’ll puff until you bring my house down.”

Derek groans in defeat, his hand slowly releasing its grip the sound of footsteps as whoever was behind Stiles leaves the room.


	6. Epilogue

It takes two days for Scott to master the shift, three to keep control no matter how angry he gets. Melissa and the sheriff learns about the existence of werewolves and Scott and Stiles get grounded for life.  
It’s another two months before Derek’s criminal days are behind him and Stiles moves out of his dad’s house into Derek’s, five minutes before he’s in Derek’s bed getting an in depth lesson regarding scent marking.

Afterwards, basking in the afterglow, Stiles turns towards him;  
”So you _can_ teach an old dog new tricks.”

The punch to his arm is _so_ worth it.

End

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](https://theydraggedmein.tumblr.com/) if you're so inclined


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